


the warmth of your doorways

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Blood Play, D/s, Knife Play, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's been too long since they've fucked. trevor is more bold than usual. things escalate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the warmth of your doorways

**Author's Note:**

> ive been dying for some good ol' fashioned sub michael (aka my secret filthy pleasure) and ended up writing this bc of it. forgive that it may wander out of character at times--it's hard to have michael both allow himself to be topped and still be the controlling jerk we know and love. title from hozier's [it will come back](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMhZ18EmlFA&index=14&list=PL576B2B66F8F043B7).

Saturdays are Trevor’s favorite day of the week--well, that is, when he’s keeping track of the days, which he has been, lately, and out of all those favorite Saturdays, this might be the best one yet. The tiny town in the southern part of Colorado that they’ve set up shop in is thrumming with rare energy this early summer night. All the high school kids stuck in this dead end place are itching to get up to no good, and the girls who stock the modest back alley whorehouses are feeling it, too.

Brad and Moses had gone prowling earlier in the night and stocked their den with weed and strong liquor and girls, girls, girls, and Michael picked out some shitty music that’s thrumming through the whole house and the lights aren’t dimmed on purpose, they’re just busted, but it brings an ambiance to the place none the less. 

They’ve been drinking and partying and Trevor hasn’t seen Michael in two months and good God, he missed him. He’s drunk and there are girls all around them but they’ve been locking eyes on and off for the better part of an hour and even though Michael keeps stroking the leg of the hooker in his lap, Trevor knows it’s a motion meant for him, a touch that belongs to his bones in the most essential way. It’s closing in on four in the morning and Trevor doesn’t feel one bit tired.

Brad and Lester and Moses and that other kid, whatshisname (Michael tells him it’s Jeff but Trevor’s pretty sure it’s Jonathan) clear out and go to their own bedrooms and yeah, everyone knows he and Michael fool around, but he still knows Michael will be comforted by the fact that all of them will be covering up the sounds of their union with their own rendezvous. 

They stumble upstairs and into a pitch black room because they don’t need light, and anyways, the blinds are broken and there’s a gaping hole in them that lets in light from the street outside and it’s enough, it’s enough, Trevor just needs to taste Michael, to feel his solid, rough body up against his, to smell his smell and hear his breath and his moans and the pumping of his blood again.

They kiss like they’re starving, and oh, they are. Their teeth click together and their mouths are all wrong against each other and their tongues are clumsy and thick and it’s so, so good. Trevor winds his fist in Michael’s hair and Michael’s short, blunt nails dig into the meat of Trevor’s ass, and they’re trying to find their way in the dark without tripping and killing themselves, but it’s not working. 

Trevor is yanking off Michael’s shirt, and then his own, and they’re moving towards the bed and Michael is fucking with his belt and Trevor gives him a good shove. Michael trips and falls on the mattress, lying on his back and laughing, looking up at Trevor with sparkling mirth.

“You that excited?” He asks. Trevor can’t help but grin back at him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, M.” He says, even though they both know he has plenty of room to do exactly that. “I’m just horny.”

“Aren’t you always?” Michael says. Trevor snorts.

“You’re worse.” Michael shrugs and Trevor drops to his knees, tugging Michael’s pants the rest of the way down and throwing them across the room. Michael seems hopeful that he’s gonna blow him, but Trevor has other plans. He slithers back up Michael’s body, lying over him and rubbing his half-hard dick through his underwear, first kissing and then biting the expanse of his shoulder and neck. Michael exhales harshly and grows harder in Trevor’s hand, but he tires of the light petting within moments.

He goes to sit up, but Trevor grabs his shoulders and shoves him back down onto the bed, to both of their surprise. This isn’t what Trevor had in mind, but Michael is looking at him strangely, hungrily, and Trevor’s pulse is racing and he suddenly really, really wants to--to--

Trevor’s fingers go to his belt. He grabs the hilt of his hunting knife and pulls it free of it’s holster, letting it flash in the dim light of the streetlamp outside. Michael catches his gaze. They stay like that for a beat, looking at each other with a knife between them before Trevor leans forward again, climbing on top of Michael and resting the blade of the knife against his bare stomach. They’re both hard.

Michael lets out a breathless chuckle. “Fuck, you’re such a maniac.” He says, but his eyes are shot black with desire. Trevor says nothing. Michael squirms a little, testing the limits to see how far he’ll take this. Trevor moves the blade up, up, up until it’s against Michael’s breast.

“I’m in charge here, chief.” Trevor says. Michael snorts.

“Oh, really? I’d love to see you try it.” Trevor’s eyes narrow. The blade of his hunting knife is digging into the soft, pale flesh of Michael’s chest, pulling the skin taught where he places pressure. Trevor moves his hips and watches Michael clench his jaw. The front of his underwear is damp. 

“You’re so transparent.” Trevor says, pushing the knife hard enough to draw tiny beads of blood, but not hard enough to break the skin with any sort of depth. Michael bites his tongue, but Trevor feels his thighs flex. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks. Michael smirks. 

“Maybe I don’t hate it.” He says. His teeth seem impossibly white in the darkness. Trevor can’t breathe. He’s never been more in love. Michael moves his hips under him a little more deliberately and Trevor remembers himself. 

He lifts his weight up a tiny bit, sliding his free hand down to press against Michael’s stomach and pin him in place. Michael bucks his hips up if only to be problematic, but Trevor pushes harder and forces him back onto the bed, denying him the friction he seeks. Michael hisses. Trevor bares his teeth.

He wants to cut him. He wants to spill his blood and crawl inside the wound and live there. He wants to become so much a part of Michael that they’re one being. He wants Michael in him and around him and all over him. 

So he does it. He pulls the knife back, choosing instead to press the tip just under Michael’s collarbone. He moves it quickly so that the cut isn’t deep or dangerous, but blood follows and Michael groans like he does when Trevor sucks his cock. He feels like that’s a good sign. 

He stares at the rivulet of red, transfixed for a moment by this, the very purest essence of Michael. He smears his fingers through it, rubbing them together before he brings them to his mouth, smearing his lips with it, leaving them sticky and metallic and stained. Michael goes to grab Trevor’s waist, but Trevor digs the knife in deeper, snarling at him.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He snaps. Michael shudders underneath him. Trevor drags the flat of the blade over Michael’s chest, rocking his hips slowly and studying Michael’s face. His eyes are shut, and his breathing is labored. He’s hard and so is Trevor and the slide of their dicks through their underwear is nice but not enough. Trevor thinks it’s probably better to wait to take them off, but he’s no paragon of patience and instead takes a gamble that he’s not sure will pay off.

He slips the blade into the side of Michael’s boxers.

“Hey, wait a second, get that--” Michael goes to sit up, but Trevor is pushing the knife through the fabric and shredding it, and Michael is falling back and moaning obscenely, and Trevor removes the tattered cloth and maybe runs the blade over the underside of Michael’s dick on accident, but maybe not. Michael makes a choked, hungry noise. Trevor reaches out and squeezes his cock before he rocks back and removes his own underwear, first making sure to lock eyes with Michael before cutting them open much the same way, throwing his head back and moaning long and pretty for Michael while he fucks against the flat of the knife.

Michael tries to sit up again and Trevor snarls. He shoves him back. He wants Michael totally still, wants him at his beck and call, wants him tied up and captivated for the show Trevor is putting on.

“You’re too...squirmy.” Trevor says. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“What are you gonna do? Tie me up?” 

Trevor grins. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m gonna do.” He says. Michael looks dubious, but his cock is dripping on his stomach and he doesn’t argue when Trevor loops his belt through the headboard and around Michael’s wrists, pulling them up over his head. Trevor sits back on his heels, knife glinting in the moon on the side table while he examines his handy work. Absently, he strokes Michael’s thigh and tilts his head to get a few more angles.

“The fuck are you staring at?” Michael snaps, gruff voice betraying his arousal as much as his self consciousness. Trevor shrugs.

“Nothing.” He says, swiping the knife and swinging his leg over Michael’s hips. He runs the blade over his own chest this time, considering cutting himself and swirling their blood together, but Michael is rolling his hips up and using the leverage of his tied hands to arch his back and thrust into Trevor’s thighs and he seems to be forgetting who’s the boss, here.

Trevor takes his hand away and Michael whines in the back of his throat, looking at Trevor with dark, annoyed eyes. Trevor grabs the lube from the side table, too, and rests his knife on Michael’s stomach, the tip pointing menacingly at his dick. Trevor raises a warning eyebrow.

“Don’t move, or you’ll drop it right on that pretty boy of yours. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” He asks, lashes fluttering innocently. Michael’s jaw clenches again. He flexes his fingers. 

“C’mon, M, don’t be a bad sport.” Trevor chides, slicking his fingers and reaching around to prep himself, slipping two digits inside without hesitation. “Fuuuck, Michael.” He groans, dragging the name out long and low, “It’s been too long since you fucked me.” He twists his fingers inside himself, brushing his prostate and making his cock jump. “I’m _so_ tight.” He murmurs. Michael makes a choked noise somewhere between a groan and a gasp at Trevor’s promise, gazing at him from under hooded lids, his forehead wet with sweat. Trevor slips a third finger inside.

“You know what’s so sick and twisted about me?” Trevor asks, his grin turning predatory on his face. Michael is breathless. “I really can’t decide where I want your come.” Trevor pulls his fingers out, holding them up to catch the light for a moment before bringing them down to grasp Michael’s dick. He grabs the knife again with his other hand, scooting up enough to lift himself and tease the tip of Michael’s dick against the rim of his asshole. 

“I love sucking your cock, y’know, and I love swallowing your come.” He says almost thoughtfully, dragging the dripping head all around his rim despite Michael’s tiny grunts and attempts to thrust up. “I love when you come on my face, or on my tits,” He snarls the word, sinking just a bare inch onto Michael’s dick just as he raises the blade of his knife to Michael’s nipple, teasing it gently. “But what I love most of all, I think,” He digs the knife in just a bit--not enough to draw blood, but enough to smart, enough to threaten, and slides all the way down onto Michael. “Is when you come in my ass.” 

Michael moans in full at last, and Trevor revels in the sound. “I think the solution is--” And he’s already out of breath from the feeling of being filled, of the heat of the room and the alcohol still in his bloodstream, and the scent of Michael and the scent of him and the scent of blood heavy and wet in the air around them, “--is for you to come, and come, and keep coming, whenever I want you to.” Trevor moves the knife, and just a quickly as before slashes right between Michael’s pecs. It’s still a shallow cut, but the blood comes and Trevor leans down to lap it up hungrily, slurping and slobbering and eating up every noise Michael makes, every movement of his body, too. “Or, better, cut me open and pull my guts out and fuck me, fuck me, and come in my gutted, disgusting body.” 

He raises his head, teeth bared and mouth pink with blood, and Michael looks at him like he’s seen an angel of death, and they’re both moaning and Trevor is saying Michael’s name, his face wet and stinking of copper, and he drops the knife and clutches Michael’s arms and bounces on him because oh, oh God, he forgot how good it felt to be like this with him, to consume him, to devour him, to be the same person and have the same soul as him.

Michael is arching up, his whole body taught against his bindings and Trevor does it again, fumbling for the knife and pressing it now into his stomach, letting it go a little slower, a little deeper, so that blood wells up in earnest and Michael swears and shudders and says his name and Trevor puts a hand over the wound and covers it, and drags his palm over his beautiful, soft skin and spreads blood everywhere, everywhere, and he throws his head back and fists his cock with a handful of blood and this is what people were afraid of when they burned witches, he thinks. This kind of power, this kind of fire between people, this kind of wild, animal lust is what stupid peasants cowered away from.

He is a witch if there has ever been one. Michael is spitting out curses and prayers and his hands are clenched into fists and he’s panting, and Trevor is panting, and he leans down to slot their mouths together and it’s not a kiss, not really, it’s a shared breath, it’s a moment of sorcery, and then Trevor is coming, his orgasm is ripping out of him and he’s whining, surprised and high and Michael is his counterpoint, saying his name low and deep in his chest and spilling inside of him and they collapse together, tired and sweating and covered in their own spunk and gooey, cooling blood. 

“Fuck.” Trevor mumbles into Michael’s neck. Michael attempts to laugh, but he’s still out of breath and it’s more of a wheeze. They rest like that only for a moment before Michael is squirming again, grumbling about painful restraints and damn Trevor for doing this and shit, he’s sore. Trevor sits up slowly and frees him before he rolls off of him to curl up against his side where he catches his breath and licks and kisses and nibbles at Michael’s still-oozing wounds while they recuperate. 

The streetlight a ways away changes color and Trevor notices the flicker of light in the corner of his eye. His head is empty. He feels comfortable in his body. He sucks a bit of Michael’s fatty stomach into his mouth and savors the feeling. For tonight, all is as it should be.


End file.
